Second Wind
by McRose
Summary: 61706: Please see author's note posted as Ch. 9. Sorry unable to continue posting at this time! Harm won the coin toss, Mac resigned her commisssion. 18 Mo. later, neither is happy. Meanwhile, back at the Pentagon ...
1. Chapter 1

SECOND WIND (1/6)

Dedication: To Siamese Cat and Daenar who, in daring to "think outside the box," gifted the JAG fanfiction world with some incredible stories! We honor you and we miss your work.

Disclaimer: "aAll the usual legalese"

WARNING: If you as a JAG fan believe that Harm is "destined" to be the Judge Advocate General of the Navy, and/or that he has no weaknesses or faults, personal or professional, you will not like this story. If you decide to read it anyway, don't complain about it to us later! We do promise a happy ending!

A/N: We have taken certain liberties to fit the theme of our story: FW&FS took place, for the purpose of our story, a few weeks earlier than it did on TV, on 31 March 2005. The command that Gorilla Don and his banana-eating chimps ordered Harm to has not existed in London since 2004, when Commander, U.S. Naval Forces Europe moved to Naples and merged with Commander, Sixth Fleet. The new command is the maritime arm of the European Command. For the purpose of our story, it is still in London. Mac was selected for 0-6 spring 2005. In the Navy JAG Corps, 20 years is NOT required for 0-6 – please don't complain to me about it again. Terms of the SOFA The episode FW&FS took place, for the purpose of our story, a few weeks earlier than it did on TV, on 31 March 2005. prevented Mac from getting a work permit in England. Finally, we have exaggerated General Cresswell's behavior (no insult intended to his fans) and the administrative demands of Harm's new billet.

The command that TPTB ordered Harm to has not existed in London since 2004, when Commander, U.S. Naval Forces Europe moved to Naples and merged with Commander, Sixth Fleet. The new command is the maritime arm of the European Command. For the purpose of our story, it is still in London.

Glossary of Military Acronyms and abbreviations used in this chapter that you may not be familiar with:

COMUSNAVEUR – Commander, U.S. Naval Forces Europe

LN – Legalman. The closest equivalent civilian occupation is paralegal

LN2 – denotes a second class petty officer (paygrade E-5)

"C" School – advanced training in a specific military occupational speciality after boot camp

SOFA – Status of Forces Agreement

BritishEnglish /U.S. vocabulary: "When in London, do as the English do" …thus, we have used underground and tube vice subway, lounge vice living room, flat vice apartment.

1700 (5:00 p.m.)

Office of the Force Judge Advocate

COMUSNAVEUR

London

13 October 2006

The rain—or drizzle—or that infernal mist -- what in the hell do you call it anyway? he wondered—matched his mood—along with the perpetual "London" fog. After the first summer in London—which had been atypical -- bright, sunny, and just-right warm-for-human-comfort, the more typical English winter had set in and he felt like he was literally and figuratively living "in a fog"—not withstanding the presence of Mac. She was, indeed, the one bright spot in his life these days, along with their darling daughter, of course—but sometimes, even the warmth of her presence wasn't quite enough to pierce the emotional "fog" threatening to engulf him.

He couldn't remember when he had ever felt this way—maybe after Jordon had left?—but that was different. The loss of that personal relationship had hurt—but he had had both his job at JAG HQ and his best friend, Mac, to help him through that. Now, the fog that he was in emotionally felt like he was separated even from his best friend. Paraguay was exquisitely painful, but the CIA, ironically enough, had come to the rescue then—and after the CIA, Mattie had miraculously shown up in his life and helped ease the pangs of loss, disappointment, and disillusionment. And being back at JAG, even swamped with the Imes cases—well, all of that had eventually brought Mac to him, even on just a "friendship basis,", especially after he conceded it was a "foolish" idea when co-workers got involved with each other in any other way than friendship. It had been tenuous, full of uncomfortable and—he winced—lots and lots of adolescent moments—for both of them, but by the time the General had unloaded his bombshell that had so thoroughly disrupted well-established lifestyles, he and Mac had once again become close. He had thought when Mac agreed to marry him, and they decided on the coin toss—to decide their "fate" together, they would at last have at least a share of the happiness Bud and Harriet seemed to possess without even trying. His mind flitted back to the memory of that particular conversation with Mac early in their friendship: she had commented they just were happy—they didn't have to work at it! He wondered, as he shifted his position to try to get more comfortable, just exactly what that met. He wished, not for the first time, just what Bud had that he didn't have—and further wished he and Bud had had the kind of relationship where he could have asked his closest male friend what the secret was. But rank and age, in addition to Bud's perpetual hero-worship—and Harm couldn't help but grin a little at that—had prevented that kind of friendship/relationship. The grin fell away from his face. It wasn't only that—it was his kind of personality that prevented that kind of male closeness. It was the same thing that had kept him from acting on his feelings for Mac lo those many years!

He leaned back in his chair and stared out the window and absently-minded noted the flock of English sparrows gathered around his window sill, trying to stay out of the worst of the moist, cool air. "Damn the humidity, anyway!" It was enough to bring a bone-marrow deep chill and he shook himself, as if to generate some internal warmth. In a way, he thought sardonically, it was worse than having hypothermia—at least, in hypothermia; attempts to internally warm one's self were very well defined, and, in his case, anyway, worked very well. This—this "chill" went far deeper than that and he couldn't help but wonder what would warm him, inside and out, again.

He watched, lost in thought, pen tapping at his lower lip, as the sparrows—there were three of them—struggled to keep their collective footing on the window ledge, out and away from the misting drizzle. Was it symbolic, he wondered absently, of the struggles he—and Mac, by extension—werewas having settling into a new location?

He had never been one for introspection—wasn't that Renee's big complaint about him so many years ago?—but now, he was forced to sit still. Hell, there wasn't much else constructive he could do but reflect upon his life.

He remembered—Gd! It had seemed so long ago—the thrill of surprise and shock when General Cresswell had announced, first his transfer to London and then his promotion to "greatness", as Mac had put it so cynically. He had truthfully given up on ever achieving "Captain," especially after returning to JAG fromafter his brief "exile" after Paraguay, and it had been a "charge" to hear himself addressed as "Captain,", even by Mac whom, he suspected, knew better. The corner of his mouth turned up in a tiny grin—she probably knew better than he how he had felt! That fact hadn't kept her from commenting in a tone of voice that let him know his elevation would not keep her from challenging him when she felt his ego was "getting out of hand." Thank God she was a permanent part of his life! What he would have done without her to look forward each and every day, he didn't want to contemplate. He had gone through that once before—six long, dreary months in which the "blues" had been kept away only by the level of action he undertook as pilot for "Air America" as Sturgis had so aptly and cryptically put it long ago—he had been too tired at the end of each night to do much thinking/ or reflecting on the state of his life at the time. In addition, there were some situations—which Mac could never know about, regrettably—in which there had been too much adrenaline flowing through his veins for him to even give the emptiness of his life much thought!

He was absently-minded tapping his pen against his lower lip as he let his mind flow back to the direct aftermath of Paraguay and the scene in Admiral Chegwidden's office. Was it true, after all, he was an "adrenaline junkie" as the Admiral so scornfully put it? Did he live for the adrenaline rush that came before each successful mission in flight or "pulling a rabbit out of the hat" in a seemingly impossible-to-win court trialcase? Was he so totally driven by his emotions he couldn't think logically at all, especially when it came to his own life? And why, in the name of all that was holy, wasn't he talking to Mac about this?

He was a Navy man, he automatically thought in nautical metaphors. If he had been asked at that very moment to describe what was happening with his emotional life, he would have compared his darkening mood to that of the rising of the ocean tides. The darkness would retreat, much like the tide going out, only to come back in, a little bit closer to the center of his very being, much like the ocean waves would come in a little closer each time the tide would come in. To call the chronic lo-grade grayness that seemed to want to eventually overtake him a tsunami was a bit extreme. To call it an ongoing "threat" like a slow flood would be more accurate. His memory took him back to the 1993 floods of the Midwest—he had been in law school—the photographs and the news broadcasts coming out of the Midwest at that time had been memorable and unforgettable. And, being as young as he had been, he had been impressionable—and those pictures stuck with him. The analogy fit, he decided, in more ways than one. There had been few towns and cities along the Mississippi that had escaped the ravages of the slowly-rising waters, despite having more than ample warning to build up their levees and sandbag walls. He felt as though he were in the position of those towns along the Mississippi—he could "see" the flood waters coming, and he could see that his own efforts at keeping those flood waters of depression at bay wasere a slowly-losing proposition.

So what was his problem, anyway? On the face of it, he had the "good life"—a wife he adored, even if his efforts at conveying those emotions to her still came out a little stiff and stilted at times. He had a job with prestige that was supposedly important. And wonder of wonders, he had his own biological daughter he was an absolute wimp over. MacKenzie O'Hara Rabb. The newest "love of his life." His normally stern facial expression softened at the thought of Mahara. She existed, in spite of Mac's endometriosis and a low sperm count/below average motility. He sucked in his breath. He had never had reason to question his own masculinity before—that had been a shock—and a blow to his ego! Mac had been there for him, as much as she had been there for him when he found out the truth about his father. He was profoundly grateful for that—but he was sure that shock to his self-image was at least partially responsible for the "down" he was currently experiencing. It was just one of many little straws that had stacked up on him since he'd gotten his orders to London. Thus, all was not "perfect" in his universe.

He sighed, and unconsciously made a facethe facial expression hardened. Although he had managed to keep one promise to Mac – their hand-shake deal to "go halves" on a baby—even within a reasonable timeframe, in light of all that had happened that last year under Chegwidden's command, there was another promise he hadn't been able to keep—to Mattie. He had told her, just as soon as he could contact her after the General's bombshell, he wasn't going anywhere without her—yet, the Court had not allowed him to take her to London. Instead, his parents had stepped in, and Mattie was now living with them in La Jolla! Just thinking about the court hearing and his attempt to request assistance from his CO was so disheartening.

_Flashback_

Blacksburg County Courthouse

Blacksburg, VA

6 April 2005

Hearing In Re Custody and Adoption of Mathilda Grace

"Mr. Rabb. Ms. MacKenzie." The Honorable Elena Antonia Alvarez prided herself on carefully reasoned rulings that complied with all legal requirements but at the same time were fair to the litigants before her court.

"I have carefully considered your petition, your testimony, the affidavits and other testimony presented, and the Department of Social Services' position. I have no doubt that you love Mattie Grace and want only the best for her."

"However, the law in this state is clear. I cannot and will not terminate Mattie's father's parental rights and allow you to adopt her upon an ex parte hearing four days after the filing of the petition before this court, a petition that has yet to be served on Mr. Johnson, thus not permitting him to be present and heard."

Mattie gasped, beginning to cry soundlessly, as the nurse and Harm hovered over her. "He's not here because he abandoned me and took off on a drunk! Judge …please …please don't let them dump me in a nursing home bed to die."

"No one is going to dump you anywhere," Judge Alvarez' voice was clear and compassionate as she regarded the roomful of uniformed and civilian supporters, the tall handsome Navy Captain and the strikingly beautiful woman next to him at the counsel table in a cream-colored suit.

"I am prepared to grant Mr. Rabb and Ms. MacKenzie joint legal guardianship, but will not permit you to leave the country and live in London. That would be tantamount to permitting an unofficial, unauthorized adoption. As guardians, they will determine, subject to the Court's approval, where you live and necessary medical care and rehabilitation. The State of Virginia will pay the required costs since your father carried no insurance and the National Transportation Safety Board has informed the Court that its investigation into the cause of the accident that resulted in your injuries will take up to two years. Mr. Rabb, I understand the impact of your military transfer orders, but I simply cannot allow Mattie to reside in England."

Harm rose to his feet. "Your Honor, may we have a brief recess?"

"For the purpose of …?" Judge Alvarez inquired.

"I need to call my commanding officer and request that my orders be changed or cancelled or that he approve a request to retire."

"Very well. We will reconvene in thirty minutes." The judge's gavel banged sharply.

"Harm," Mac whispered urgently. "We can't leave her here alone. I'll stay with her."

"No." Mattie had calmed herself and she grasped Harm's hand with her stronger right fingers. "I'll be okay. You have to go with Harm. I don't want him to be alone either."

"My enlistment's almost up." Jennifer Coates was trying hard not to cry. "I can get a job here in Blacksburg."

"Stay here." Harm tried to sound positive. "I'll go call the General."

"Good luck," Mac muttered. "He wouldn't even see me last Friday."

Frank and Trish finished whispering and approached the group gathered around Mattie's wheelchair. "Mattie, if Harm can't get his orders changed, you'll live with us. We don't need a birth certificate for you to be our granddaughter. You're Harm and Mac's daughter now, whatever the Judge says, and that makes us your grandparents. You won't be alone or in a nursing home …. Jennifer, you need to stay in the Navy and continue your education."

"No luck." Harm's flat, discouraged voice interrupted behind them. "He was … impossible….just impossible."

"We want to testify or meet with the Judge," Trish Burnett was firm. "As soon as Mattie can leave the hospital here she'll come to La Jolla for school and rehab."

Frank spoke to the Judge's clerk, advising that they were ready to resume at Her Honor's convenience. "Harm, it will work out …we'll make it work."

"Mr. Rabb?" Judge Alvarez somehow just knew this wasn't going to have a happy ending for the man who so obviously loved this young girl.

"Your Honor, I have been ordered to report to my new duty station in London as scheduled. I respectfully ask the Court to reconsider its decision and allow Mattie to join my wife and I as soon as she can travel."

As Judge Alvarez shook her head, Frank and Trish rose. "Your Honor, we are Franklin and Patricia Burnett, Harm's parents. If you cannot let Mattie live in London, we request that you permit her to live with us in La Jolla, California. We will provide any necessary medical care and education that this State can't or won't. We consider Mattie our granddaughter now, and she won't ever be alone or want for anything."

Even as they had hurriedly prepared to travel from San Diego for Harm and Mac's marriage in the Clerk of the Court's officewedding earlier that morning and the hearing, Frank had anticipated this problem. "Your Honor, we submit for your review a copy of our last year's tax return, affidavits from our minister and personal attorney, a letter of admission acceptance from La Jolla Country Day School, and photographs of our home, which we will modify for wheelchair accessibility. Mattie will travel by chartered air ambulance with whatever doctors or nurses her doctors here recommend. We are prepared to answer your questions, post any bond the Court requires, and provide any other information necessary for your decision."

Judge Alvarez perused the documents and nodded. "I am prepared to rule on the petition before the Court."

_(Flashback continued)_

If Harm had had any remaining doubts that Frank Burnett considered him his son, they had been dispelled. That evening, as Harm and Mac signed general, medical and _in loco parentis_ power of attorney documents for him and Trish, Frank made it clear.

"Harm, you and Mac are our children, and Mattie and any other children you have or adopt or consider your children – like Mac's 'sister' Chloe – are our grandchildren. You will all inherit from us – we have enough for ourselves and a dozen more. I know what the Navy pays you and it would be many times that in the corporate world. I don't want any of you to worry about money." Frank was veryfirm and clear. "Step" or not, Harm was the only son he had.

"Dad, please ….I need to support my family," Harm swallowed the lump in this throat, overwhelmed by Frank's words and obvious feelings. For the first time in his life, he called Frank "dad."

"And your mother and I need to support ours," Frank retorted. "Fine…you send me a check every month …it'll go straight into Mattie's college fund."

_END FLASHBACK_

Harm grimaced: the irony wasn't lost on him—Mac, the original "love" of his life was with him—but the other love, the one "innocent love" he had gained during that six-month exile—had gotten physically as far from him as Mac's original orders would have placed her! Was there some kind of karmic justice in that? he wondered. And the fact he hadn't been able to keep that promise just absolutely "ate" at him! She wasn't doing as well as she thought she should be—and he was profoundly frustrated at the fact he couldn't be there physically, to reassure her with the hugs and the verbal encouragement only someone who had walked a similar path years ago could provide! It had taken him months to recover from his ramp strike, and although he could—and did tell her—over the phone, it wasn't the same as being there face to face, and both of them knew it!

He was both depressed and stressed, and he knew it! At his "annual" five-year physical last month, the doctor had bluntly told him to exercise, lose the weight he'd gained in the last year, and had proscribed medication for his elevated blood pressure. Something had to give!

Was his job important? Just what was his job anyway? He glanced down at the latest report he was supposed to be working on. It was a statistical analysis of temperature control costs! Ugh! Sure, he knew intellectually that conservation of both scarce energy resources and scarce facilities maintenance funds was important, but THIS was what he was doing after 21 years as an aviator/lawyer? He leaned forward and looked at the next stack of papers that lay underneath that particular report. He mentally groaned. It wasn't much better—it was supposed to be a report on utilization of manpower resources! This was supposed to be important!

_Flashback. _

Earlier that morning.

The intercom from Legalman Second Class Julia Vaughn's desk interrupted Harm's musings. "CAPT Rabb."

"Sir, General Cresswell is on line 2 for you." LN 2 Vaughn was unfailingly polite to her handsome boss, but she was beginning to regret her decision to enlist. Her Associate's degree in Paralegal Studies had gotten her advanced paygrade and a guaranteed slot in Legalman training after boot camp. Her top scores at the "C" School won her the coveted London billet …where she did what? play receptionist because she was the junior legalman!

"Thank you Petty Officer," Harm's response was automatic as he stabbed viciously at line 2, a headache already forming. It was 0630 in Falls Church and sure as s he knew what General Cresswell was calling about, and it wasn't to wish him a pleasant day and weekend.

"Good morning General."

"It was until I opened your quarterly metrics report," Cresswell wasted no time on pleasantries. Not for the first time, he wondered idly what would happen if he somehow engineered a switch and replaced Rabb with MacKenzie. As Chief of Staff, she'd routinely knocked out all required reports and other administrative taskings without missing a beat while carrying a full caseload. He slammed the door shut on that thought – MacKenzie had thrown her career away! "CAPT, didn't you review the instructions attached to the new template?"

"Umm…" _WHAT new template?_ Harm groaned inwardly. He'd carefully copied the final version of the third quarter report as a "go by" and double checked each number, percentage and header!

"Rabb, these reports are IMPORTANT to the CNO and the SecNav, among others. Manpower and budget allocations are made based in part on them!" Cresswell's voice just dripped exasperation. "In addition to Coates having to reformat every one of your bar graphs into a pie chart, your failure to provide exactly the new information requested, in the required format, has held up the London info being consolidated for analysis with every other SJA office's!"

His head now pounding, Harm offered weakly, "my apologies Sir, shall I rework them and re-send ….?"

"NO, we'll fix it here. Next time, READ the instructions we email before you just use a "go by." Every other SJA does!" Cresswell was now icily scathing. Rabb was one of the finest investigators and trial attorneys he'd ever known, but when it came to admin routine, he was a dumb cluck, bar none.

"Yes Sir." Harm had early on resolved to keep it short and sweet with his boss and not let himself get upset. Easier said than done, by far. _Every other SJA, yeah, right. Every other major command SJA and FJA has a deputy and a Warrant Officer or Gunny to run the bullpen and prep the admin work. _

Fumbling in his desk for his bottle of Pepcid AC, Harm knew he'd never keep lunch down. Reviewing the schedule Petty Officer Vaughn placed on his blotter each morning, he groaned again at his 1300 (1:00 p.m.) meeting. Security issues in connection with the London Youth Soccer Day championship COMUSNAVEUR co-hosted annually. _For this he was a Captain in the JAG Corps?_

_(End Flashback)_

Just remembering the "conversation" made Harm's stomach churn anew.He leaned back in his chair. Contrary to popular myth, he was just as capable of being logical and rational, and of "crunching" numbers as anyone—as he had demonstrated several times in the past at JAG HQ! Brief pictures lasting all of two seconds of Bud coaxing funds for repairs to the actual building precipitated by his gunfire antics of many years ago, of Renee taking a quick look at the procurement documentationrequests from the Pentagon on a particular war bird request and making some suggestions flickered through his mind. He was intelligent enough to do it—with help, he grudgingly admitted to himself. In both those instances, it had been other people who had been the inspiration behind the positive results, although—and he grinned, more a smirkgrimace, really, at the thought he had at least briefly "snowed" the Admiral—although he really didn't mean to—on that aspect of his job at HQ. Okay, so maybe building maintenance and procurement requests were important—he just didn't feel like they were. And—that was the problem. It was him, and it was his attitude. If he were to keep back the oncoming waves of depression that were threatening his happiness—or, to be more accurate, keeping him from being happy, he had to change.

Which brought his mind around to Admiral Chegwidden. The pen he was unconsciously tapping against his lower lip stopped and he put it down on the desk and shifted once again, this time leaning back in his chair. His right arm unconsciously bent at the elbow and he leaned his head against it, thumb aligning with jaw and forefinger landing near the side of his nose pointing up, parallel to said nose. It was a pose he had adopted early in his time at HQ and it was one he used, without being aware of it, when he thought about his former CO.

He thought briefly and strongly enough to shift still again reaching for the telephone, thinking about reaching out to the retired admiral to discuss his quandary, going so far as to pick up the receiver and then stopped. What would he say to his old CO/ nemeses, anyway? And, more importantly, what would the old war horse say to him?

He could just imagine it. The gruff voice that had reigned supreme for nine years over JAG would have been irritated. "Just what did you think a promotion entailed, anyway, Rabb?" He could picture the Admiral snorting and adding, "Suck it up, Rabb. You made your choice, live with it!"

He thought about that. He had been telling the truth when he had answered Chegwidden's question about how much thought he had given to his career—"not much, sir." He couldn't remember the exact words, but something about thinking about his career only when it appeared he was about to trash that same career through whatever action he was about to undertake! He grinned a little. It was true—he had thought a long time ago he would "top out" at Commander—never thought he would make Captain. So what did this promotion mean to him, and what had he expected, anyway?

He was a lawyer. First and foremost, an attorney-at-law. More specifically, a Navy lawyer, a member of the Judge Advocate General's Corps. He found himself startled by that thought: for so long, he had self-identified himself as an aviator first and foremost, then lawyer. That was a switch in his thought process, and he mused on it. He had told Renee so long ago that he didn't have much insight into his own behavior—now he was beginning, at this rather late date, to gain that insight. For example, for the first time, he wondered if histhat self-identification as "aviator" came from a desire to live out his father's shortened life, rather than his own. Captain Pike , the CAG on the Seahawk when he'd returned to flying, so many years ago,had made the comment, "Your heart's in the law. You love it." Why hadn't he had the good sense to pick up on that comment, then—instead of years later? But where, then, did that leave him?

He shifted, his hand going from his jaw to the pencil, and the pencil-tapping on his lower lip continued.

Who was he, really? He had always considered himself a "man of action"—and it had been most obviously expressed in his enthusiasm for aviation. "Sarah", his biplane, had been restored supposedly as a form of "therapy" after his ramp strike, but in reality, since he was being honest with himself, it was done mostly out of an effort to reconnect in some fashion with his father. He had proven to his satisfaction—and everybody else's, for that matter—he was a superb aviator. But that was then. This was now.

His mind flitted back to that humiliating scene that had occurred when he and Mac had gotten back from Paraguay, when he found out how quickly Admiral Chegwidden had processed after he had turned in his resignation. What exactly was it the Admiral had accused him of being? ". . .not a team player, . . .fed up with this man's undependability. . .." and perhaps, most importantly, given his current position, "not able to see the big picture.". He hadn't had time to really consider the question—what he remembered most clearly was his response, him telling Mac the Admiral was telling both of them what Mac had said in their endless discussions in their free time—that Mac was being confirmed in her opinion that he couldn't change.

He became aware of something else flitting around the edges of his mind. He had really wanted this promotion and he had wanted to keep his career in the Navy which was what led to the creative idea (some would call it "childish") of using the coin toss to determine which of them would give up their self-defining careers. Upon further reflection, he came to a couple of conclusions, which he thought would startle Mac considerably. He wanted to continue his career in the Navy because it grounded him, gave him a support structure otherwise missing from his life. His life with the CIA had, if nothing else, proved to him that he needed that structure! Was that so true now? He decided Mac was a very good substitute for the institutional structure of the Navy, especially since she knew him so-o-o-o well! He smiled. That should make her feel better, anyway.

As far as the promotion itself goes, he thought of Admiral Chegwidden once again. The promotion was important to him ultimately only in that it validated his career to-date in the Navy especially after that awful interview in the Admiral's office. He had had a point to make—and the powers-that-be whothat existed in the form of the promotion board had made his point for him. At the thought of that "conversation" in the Admiral's office, he still felt a flicker or two of anger. He shook his head as if to clear it. The fact that he still felt resentment, hurt, a sense of betrayal on the part of his former CO meant, to him, that he still hadn't quite fully "recovered" from that fateful day. He remembered, too, seeing the shock and sadness on Mac's face although, if he had to guess, it was probably mostly shock. Although he hadn't been around for months after that, he understood from Bud that it had taken a long time for her to regain her equilibrium, both emotionally and intellectually. He had come back to see some of that—and had been, at times, the target of the off-balanced Mac. And of course, he had contributed to her burden at the time, still stinging from the aftermath of Paraguay. But he had learned his lessons well. Before Paraguay, he would have been eager to jump in to "save Mac" from herself. After his return, he was much less willing to "go out on the limb,", even in the pursuit of justice. And he had learned not to trust his CO, whoever it might be at any given time, not quite so much! Now that was a thought. He frowned. He wondered if that aspect of "lessons learned" had anything to do with his not-so-good working relationship with his new CO, General Cresswell. He wondered, briefly in passing, whether his deteriorating relationship with Mac (at the time) was also a result of having learned not to trust colleagues quite so much, either. He knew that had something to do with his now-sour relationship with Sturgis, as well. Only his relationship with Bud seemed to have escaped the aftermath of Paraguay. Even with Harriet, he had pulled back a considerable distance. He had also learned to curtail his creative "moments of inspiration" to more appropriate times—and that discipline had served him well. He still, however, had a hard time forgiving the Admiral. He had kept those particular feelings hidden under those tight emotional controls, however, and no one, least of all, the Admiral, had really guessed at how he really, honestly felt at the time.

Now, it appears, all of that suppression was catching up to him. He heaved a big sighn, leaned forward, and took another look at the report he was supposed to be working on. It still looked as dry the fourth time through as it did the first time! Damn it anyway! He was no "bean-counter,", no office toddy—and Ted Lindsey's face appeared before him for a nanosecond—what in the hell did the General expect, anyway! That angry feeling that had been stirred up briefly with the memory of that "conversation" flared into a bright, flickering flame. He clamped his lips together in an effort to control the "fire"that flame and forced his mind into the "rational, analytical mode.". He wasn't happy with the necessity of looking at his life—but it sure as hell was better than these dry statistics!

He reached the conclusion, something had to change. The question was, was it necessary for him to change to be happy? And to change—what? That was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? To change would be to change into a man that Mac, especially, might not recognize and therefore, might have regretted marrying.

Fact in point, he had changed, and to a considerable degree—thanks to Mattie! Mac herself had commented on it shortly after they were married. His mind flitted back to that memorable morning—what? a week after their wedding, a week of waking up to a feeling of constant, astonished delight of Mac in his bed!

He refused to allow himself to remember, in his office, being the professional he prided himself on being, the exact details of that astonishing morning, but he did allow himself to reflect on the one remark which stuck like Velcro in his memory: She had said, "For what it's worth, sailor, I think you've hit your stride this last year as 'attorney-at-law'." She had continued, "It's as if you no longer have anything to prove to anybody, least of all yourself about where you belong. I even think—"and her eyebrows went from concentrated frown to upright 'attention' as if to ask the question she didn't want to ask verbally,--"I even perceive a change in your attitude towards flying!"

He shook himself, to bring himself back to the present, uncomfortably stiff chair. The thought went through threw his mind—he'd have to ask Frank if all executive chairs were as uncomfortable as his—and what could he do about it. That brought his mind from memories and back to the present issue of his current unhappiness.

. To require him to adjust his own attitude that much would take substantial effort, and, especially since Mac was now a permanent part of his life, he wasn't sure it was worth it, although the question of just why he wasn't sharing all of this with Mac also presented itself. His reasoning for not doing so all of a sudden loomed large. The Admiral popped back into his mind and he imagined he thought he saw a frown, deep enough to hit the bottom of all seven seas! Inwardly, he cringed. Despite all the bad feelings that existed between the two of them in the last year or so of the Admiral's tenure as JAG, he still respected the man like he respected few others. Certainly, there were few whose respect he really wanted, and the Admiral was numbered among the few. He squinted and stared at the figure in his mind.

"What do I do, Admiral?" He was so preoccupied he wasn't sure he spoke the question aloud, but it didn't matter.

The imaginary Admiral looked him square in the eye. "Remember I asked you what you would do to keep her?" He nodded. "Isn't that the real issue here?"

The question took him aback. He was forced, suddenly, to consider what might happen if he didn't change his reticent ways enough to share this particular struggle with Mac. That was the side of the issue he had never bothered to think about. And that led to the further thought that maybe, perhaps, in helping him deal with his struggles, it might make Mac a little happier.

All of a sudden, he'd "had it" and he moved in his rapid-pace fashion, standing abruptly and moved around his desk. He grabbed his cover and headed out the door, barely glancing at Petty Officer Vaughn.

"I'm going home. You can secure too; have a nice weekend."

She startled and looked up and responded, "Yes, sir!" His words were trailing him in his wake.

He took a deep breath once outside the building. London used to be one of the most polluted cities on the earth; however, since the crisis of the late 1950s, steps had been taken to cut down on the worst offenders, and now London was no worse than the biggest cities in the States. In any case, it felt good to be able to breathe fresh air and not the recycled reconditioned air so typical of so many offices world-wide. He headed for "the tube" anxious to get home to the one warm spot in his world. He resolved to discuss the issue with Mac at the earliest opportunity, mulling over the arguments he would present, as if in a trial before memberscourt case, for his early retirement. For the first time in a long time, he felt things were looking up, to the point of almost—not quite—breaking out into a whistled rendition of "Anchors Aweigh!"!

End Part I


	2. Chapter 2

Second Wind Part 2/6

A/N:

NO disrespect or "put-down" is implied or intended of women who choose to stay at home and raise their families, or those for whom circumstances dictate that they not work outside the home. Absolutely none. I admire you tremendously. Jan.

It is important to note that Part II takes place at the exact same time as Part I.

Glossary of military and other abbreviations for Part II

LSAT – Law School Aptitude Test

TAD – temporary Additional Duty (essentially the same as TDY (temporary duty). Official travel away from your permanent duty station, you then return to your duty sation.

PCS – Permanent Change of Station – refers to transfer from one duty station to the next (as opposed to going TAD or TDY)

SOFA – Status of Forces Agreement

1700

Rabb/MacKenzie Flat

London

13 October 2006

"Five hundred forty-seven days. Thirteen thousand, one hundred twenty-eight hours. Seven hundred eighty-seven thousand six hundred eighty… "_Get a grip, MacKenzie! You are so NOT going there."_

The dreariness of the dark day's sliding into dusk, coupled with the continuing misty drizzle, matched Mac's mood to a "T". Carefully aligning the three hundred forty three pages she'd just printed she scrolled slowly though her end notes one last time, then hit the "print" icon. She'd already burned two CDs of her. . .what? not a book, not a thesis or dissertation—her "project" of the last eighteen months was complete, edited, revised, proofed, printed. She'd dragged it out at least an extra week. Now only five hundred forty-seven. . .Slamming the door shut on those particular brain cells, Mac considered . . .not even a page a day. A dissertation she'd never defend for a degree she'd never be awarded. _Is this all she'd accomplished in eighteen months in London?_

Well, not QUITE all. Gently rocking the carrier next to the computer, her face turned luminous as she gazed at the sleeping child. Not quite her looks—not quite his looks. Her skin, his eyes—too soon to tell about the smile. The brains? Well, she wasn't late arriving, she kept on schedule—surely a good sign. All in all, a long-ago hand-shake deal successfully consummated. Mac's lips turned up at the thought of the fun they'd had working on it.

Immediately upon arrival in London, they'd consulted a fertility specialist. After an excruciatingly painful procedure and two rounds of fertility drugs, wonder of wonders—she'd conceived! Mac chuckled, remembering how she'd almost felt cheated as she breezed through the pregnancy and birth—no morning sickness, no cravings or complications! If it weren't for her expanding waist and stomach, she wouldn't have known she was pregnant! She and Harm were "head-over-heels" with their beautiful daughter, MacKenzie O'Hara Rabb. "Mahara." Knowing that this was likely their only biological child, she'd briefly held out for "Harmony" but Harm had worn her down. "She has my name; I want her to have yours and to honor your uncle. We wouldn't have met if it hadn't been for him." Mac had countered with "Liberty" referring to the stolen Declaration of Independence or "Rose" but had eventually agreed, secretly delighted that her darling daughter would have her beloved uncle's name. The news about Harm's lower-than-average sperm count and their motility had been a blow but they knew that their having even one biological child had indeed been a "miracle."

Mac sighed. If she had had any doubts at all about her competency, they had been dispelled when she discovered it actually took very little time to take care of one infant who mainly eats, sleeps, and wets. She loved her child fiercely but knew within days of her birth that her long-ago mantra of a "a good man—now expanded to encompass a lovely home and a darling daughter—a great career and comfortable shoes" was lacking the middle element. She'd thought to replace her career as Marine officer-judge advocate with the noble career of "mother." She envied Harriet, who'd apparently made the transition without significant angst—although, Harriet had mentioned in a recent email that with A.J. in second grade and Jimmy in all-day kindergarten, she was studying for the LSAT and seriously considering law school!

She sighed again. She'd promised herself never to have regrets, but …after the "congratulations" and good wishes, Cresswell had offered two weeks leave before she'd report to San Diego. His disbelieving stare as he'd finally realized that she really meant to resign her commission had quickly turned to a furious glare. He'd told her not to bother requesting a Reserve commission and left McMurphy's after a final icy snarl at both Mac and Harm. She didn't want a Reserve commission – given the continuing war, she knew that was the almost certain route to mobilization and a year in Iraq. Under all of the circumstances, and if on active duty she'd go if ordered, of course, that wasn't what she wanted at this point in her life. The general had refused to see her when she arrived at JAG HQ with her resignation letter the next day hoping to talk to him about alternatives – the on-line list of available billets included an 0-3 billet open at the Embassy with the Guard Force. She would have swallowed her pride and taken it, giving up her promotion and the chance to have her own command.

As she rocked the cradle, she mused on her current status. She had tried, she really had. It was the feminine equivalent of "no man's land." Had her generation been "sold" a "bill of goods" by either the feminist movement or, on the other hand, the much more conservative "stay-at-home—there's no more noble profession for women than that!" school of thought?

She carefully considered those particular stances. She had "come of age"—as had Harm, though he was four years older—during the conservative backlash against the "Women's Liberation" movement. One thing she had appreciated about her male colleagues—for the most part, her contemporaries in age—but especially Harm, even from day one—was their genuine acceptance of her credentials as both military officer and lawyer. Neither had blinked an eye at her being assigned to work that first investigation with them. Coming up through the Marines—as tough an organization for women as any—she had been used to getting ribald remarks and snide looks from the older men she had served under, and, as a result, when she had come to JAG HQ, she was totally on the defensive, looking for "chinks" in what she'd thought was a façade of acceptance. It took her a while to realize neither Harm nor Bud was putting on an "act" for her benefit. It was when she arrived at that conclusion that Harm started appearing in her perception as something more than an "arrogant, full-of-himself, Naval aviator-turned-lawyer". And it was her Uncle Matt, who had encouraged her to go into the Marines in the first place, who had seen past that "flyboy" act and saw the real quality of the man in those really early days when Mac herself was unsure of what she had encountered in Harmon Rabb, Jr. That had helped allay her fears, knowing her uncle was a good judge of character—not flawless in that regard, obviously, but still good.

She stood up and stretched, keeping a watchful eye on, first the infant carrier, then the window showing the foul weather outside. Idly, she wondered if it was going to turn to a solid rain, instead of this lousy mist. She would have welcomed that. She'd grown up in southern Arizona, where it never got cold and didn't mess around with things like fog and mist—but instead produced what were known as "gully-washers" when it did rain. It had taken her some time to get used to the weather in Washington D.C. when she'd first PCS'd there. She confessed to herself, she'd really never gotten used to it—Washington was "supposed" to be a southern city—yet it got cold enough to snow—sometimes lots of snow! And the humidity—she thought it was bad in Washington. It was much, much worse in England.

Thoughts of another cold, dreary winter in London brought to mind the cost of heating their spacious flat in the beautiful Georgian brownstone facing Cartwright Gardens. Neither she nor Harm had lived extravagantly in D.C., but living on one income had presented unexpected challenges. They had had a frank discussion about their finances. He'd used most of his savings to finance the trip to Paraguay and then to make the mortgage payments on the house Mattie had inherited from her mother. Harm had also brought in several Johns Hopkins consultants for Mattie that the State wouldn't pay for and a private duty nurse after she awoke from the coma and he had to return to work. As she prepared to leave for La Jolla, Mattie had insisted the house be sold. "My life is with you now. I'll never live in Blacksburg again." Mattie had been adamant and Harm had reluctantly agreed. They'd stored his Vette but sold the Lexus and her Corvette, which had paid most of the $25,000.00 bill for the fertility treatments. That was one bill she'd paid with pleasure. DoD didn't consider wanting to be pregnant a medical necessity, though after she conceived, the full costs of her obstetrical care and the birth were covered. Even though he knew Frank just deposited the money into a trust account for Mattie, Harm sent him a check each month. Mac knew he felt keenly that Frank and Trish were paying for so much of Mattie's care and expenses. He'd insisted she keep sending the small allowance she'd sent Chloe for years, as well as continue to fund the trust she'd set up after her return from Aceh for Lilyanna's school fees and future education. They'd worked up a budget that had them living on his income but saving almost nothing. She didn't want to dip further into her savings – that was for the down payment on a house after their return to the States and to help Chloe with college. Despite Frank's statement after Mattie's custody hearing, neither Harm nor Mac would ask him or Trish for money for themselves.

She knew Harm was getting restless and was unhappy and she supposed part of it had to do with the weather! She smiled a little—bless his heart! He didn't want her to be unhappy, so he kept his issues to himself. Like always. She sighed. He was often morose, staring out the window or at the TV in the evening. He worked long hours, including part of each Saturday, but never talked about the work and the few times she'd asked, he brushed her off with a "same old …same old …" They may have finally confessed their love for each other, but the patterns of behavior established during nine years weren't going to change overnight—and she had hoped for more progress on that front! She frowned. She knew she was just as bad, hiding her own discontent with her present day life. She made a point of not going to Harm's office unless she absolutely had to. She felt awkward and out of her element in civvies, feeling keenly the loss of her identity as a Marine. Mac grimaced, remembering the last time she'd gone there, bringing a file Harm had forgotten that morning. In jeans and a casual shirt, she'd been mortified to find the Commandant of the Marine Corps with Harm – he'd apparently stopped in while TAD to London. Feeling like a frumpy housewife, she'd mumbled an excuse and escaped as soon as possible. Maybe, just maybe, that was part of what was contributing to her moodiness and general all-around grand "funk"!

It was a "light bulb" moment. Her grand "funk" was due to lack of purpose, of meaning in her life separate from "wife and mother!" Those two "schools of thought" were extremes at either end of the "option" scale and she had been silly enough, as a young woman coming from the kind of background she had, to totally "buy into" the feminist position wholeheartedly and without much thought. It was ironic, her lips compressing together in a grim smile: when she was engaged to Mic, he had wanted the kind of wife she had inadvertently become to Harm, the total stay-at-home kind. And that had caused all kinds of friction between them. All-in-all, it was just as well that wedding hadn't occurred. Mic was a good man—and had been a bit "smarter" than she at that time. A marriage to Mic would have been disastrous from the get-go! All Harm wanted was for her to be happy! She suspected he had wondered at her "decision" to give up her career. In a conversation on the flight across the Atlantic, he'd asked her what kind of job she was going to look for in London, and had clearly been caught by surprise when she'd explained that she'd checked and found that under the SOFA, she couldn't get a work permit, so she'd be a "housewife!" The grim smile relaxed into a genuine smile. It had never occurred to Harm she was going to "stay at home" and be a "housewife." When she assured that him that it would be a sort of "sabbatical" and she'd find "something" to do, he had done his "turtle act" and said nothing further about his reservations regarding her "career" choice. Well, it wasn't her first choice – if she'd been able to work, she would have. But now, even with Mahara, here she was—a profoundly frustrated stay-at-home housefrau!

For 16 years, Mac had had the structure, stability and organization of the Corps to help her keep sober and focused. She missed the stimulation and challenge of her former life and the feeling that she was contributing to her country. "Mother" might be a noble career, but it just wasn't in her to be a stay-at-home Mom. Without "something to do" she knew she'd spiral into depression and regrets, or worse.

Yet to be fair, Mahara was still quite young—and once her personality started showing, staying at home might be more feasible. Certainly more challenging, anyway! That was the one thing the conservative school of thought didn't say—how boring being around an infant this young would/could be, especially if one were a person of "action!" The feminist movement had been addressing that very issue while the conservative school of thought—well, who knew what they thought! Who knew what their answer would be to the restlessness and discontent she felt. It occurred to her then—she should find her copy of Betty Frieden's _The Feminine Mystique_ and reread it. She suspected it would make much more sense to her now than in her undergrad days when it had been required reading for one of her history classes. The problem was, to be really honest, she'd always seen herself "doing it all" – the husband and the baby AND the career!

What was it she had told Harriet over lunch that day after she and Harm had received their orders —and before that memorable time at Harm's loft leading to the gathering at McMurphy's? She thrived on a certain amount of chaos and found it exhilarating she didn't know what she was going to be doing 20 minutes from the current moment. She stared out the window, not really seeing the grayness that seemed to settle over everything. Yet—here she was, utilizing her Marine training to structure a very strict schedule of museum and library visits, and reading, research and writing, to keep from being discouraged and frustrated, not to mention depressed—which wasn't working very well!

It was time to get honest with herself. She wasn't happy with her choice—and damn Harm for suspecting that might be the case! Both his self-esteem and self-image had taken a severe hit as a result of the Paraguay mission—she made a face as the very word "Paraguay" stirred up certain memories she really had no fondness for revisiting—especially when she let herself remember what Paraguay had done to her best friend—and now beloved husband and lover—he was no longer the arrogant jet-jock full of himself. Indeed, he had come back to JAG as uncertain and insecure as she had ever seen him. And, she grimaced, she really hadn't comprehended the whole picture of that hit—not until that night when he had come to her apartment to ask her to vouch for him as guardian. That was a painful episode for her to remember—she had been harsh and critical. She shook her head—he had really changed, and changed in substantial ways that he had proven to her, time and time again in the following months. It had taken her a while—especially with the turmoil between her and Clay and Clay's betrayal—but he had finally convinced her, through both word and action, that he was hers, in whatever way she wanted him.

Their conversation at the Admiral's Dining Out had been overwhelming—a softer smile appeared on her face—absolutely overwhelming! Even then, it had taken her Christmas Eve car accident for her to comprehend just how deeply and thoroughly Harm had fallen for her! She supposed it was that love she felt—unconditionally for only the second time in her life—her uncle being the first—that made her think she could manage being a "stay-at-home" wife and mother.

She snorted. "Yeah. Sure." Paraguay had changed her, too, only in more subtle ways—or was it easier to see in Harm, since he was so obviously driven by his emotions—at least up until Paraguay? She remembered following him to Russia, for Gd only knew what reasons at the time, to be there for him when he found the truth about his missing father. It had been pretty much what she had suspected—it wasn't a total shock to her that Harmon Rabb Sr. had died years before—but the story was—hm-m-m, how shall we say this? unique. She just knew that she was extremely happy she had been "there" for him when the truth finally came out.

She had been the one with the dispassionate plan—she had been the one whom Harm had turned to in the investigation that had taken place on the _Watertown _when he had said he "kept tripping over reality." Yet, since her experience in Paraguay, she had been the one all over the board emotionally—and he had been her "rock", her "pole of stability!" She was, if nothing else, profoundly grateful for that, and she would have to make sure he knew it at some future point in time.

Recently, though, she had come to terms with everything that had happened in the last year and a half of Chegwidden's command, and she had reverted back to a more mature, logical, and analytical person. She had seen Harm's unhappiness, although she suspected he had been trying to "hide" it from her. And, a glint of soft humor appeared in her eyes, she suspected they would have to revert to early type—it would probably be up to her to come up with the "dispassionate plan" to get them out of the quagmire that was their combined lives now.

But in order to do that and be fair to both, she would have to have more information—and Harm, gentleman that he was, wasn't forthcoming about said information! She checked her internal clock—Harm probably still had a couple of hours before he'd call to let her know he was leaving his office. She had that much time to figure out exactly what she wanted to do to resolve their situation, both individually and as a couple. She moved Marara's carrier to the sofa, went to put the tea kettle on for a cup of English tea, and settled down with a legal pad to make notes and observations, much the same way she would do in preparing a closing argument.

An hour later, she stretched, and returned to the computer with the still-sleeping Mahara, In addition to resolving to question Harm and find out what was bothering him so much, she'd decided to investigate volunteer opportunities in London. After all, she had to do "something" for the next five hundred forty-seven days ….Laying her head on her arms, she tried to calculate what time Harm might call to let her know he was leaving NAVEUR HQ for home. Hopefully, it'd be soon.

End Part II.

8


	3. Chapter 3

Second Wind 3/6

A/N:

1. Part III, allowing for the 5 hour time difference, takes place at the same time as Parts I and II.

Glossary of military acronyms and abbreviations for Part III:

1. CNO – Chief of Naval Operations

2. General Counsel of the Navy – senior civilian lawyer in theDepartment of the Navy – by statute, the principle legal advisor to the Sec'y of the Navy

3. OGC – Office of General Counsel – civilian (civil service) lawyers – their areas of responsibility are generally separate from JAGs' though there is some overlap.

4. XO – Executive Office – second in command

5. MCPON – Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy. A senior enlisted servicemember who is selected to serve as a Special Assistant to the CNO as his principal advisor on morale and welfare issues, primarily involving enlisted servicemembers. The Sgt Major of the Marine Corps is his counterpart, reporting to the Commandant.

6. geo-bachelor tour – "geographic bachelor" - refers to a married servicemenber not taking his or her family to a duty station location; some duty stations are unaccompanied by regulation – for example, Diego Garcia.

7. PRD – Projected Rotation Date – for example, if your tour at a duty station is a three year tour, and you report in Jun 2006, your PRD on your orders is Jun 2009. In reality, detaching or reporting a month or so either side of the PRD is not uncommon.

8. NCIS SAC – Naval Criminal Investigative Service Special Agent in Charge

9. 32nd St. – refers to the major Navy complex in the vicinity of 32nd Street, San Diego.

10. reg – regulation

11. PCS – permanent change of station orders (transfer from one duty station to another)

12. FY – fiscal year – for government in the U.S.A. it's 1 October to the next 30 September. Money is often very short in the 4th quarter of the FY.

13. "gapping a billet" – this refers to the practice of not filling a vacancy. Sometimes it's because no one is readily available to order into the billet, sometimes it's to save money.

Noon

SecNav's private dining room

The Pentagon

13 October 2006

The SecNav's weekly "legal matters of interest" meeting with the CNO, Commandant, JAG and the General Counsel was winding down. The last agenda item, as usual, was the prototype Joint Legal Service Office (JLSO) in San Diego. Not quite two years ago, they'd agreed that jointness was the way forward to a more efficient, streamlined and fiscally responsible way to deliver uniformed legal services in the field. Handpicking JAG's well-regarded Chief of Staff as the first commanding officer had been intended to ensure the prototype's success. Her unexpected resignation to marry CAPT Harmon Rabb had caught them by surprise.

Stretched thinner than ever due to the continuing war on terrorism, they'd agreed on Sturgis Turner as a second choice, even though he'd been passed over for 0-6, figuring that Rabb's record had dwarfed his before the Selection Board and he was sure to pick up 0-6 above zone in 2006. It hadn't happened.

Rubbing his face, The Honorable Edward Sheffield sighed, wishing for the 78th time that he'd refused to sign off on Col Sarah MacKenzie's resignation and forced her to execute her orders. Sipping his 20th cup of coffee of the day, he launched into his usual Friday noon spiel.

"Well, Melanie and gentlemen, the JLSO is once again last but not least on the agenda. Melanie, you don't have to stay if you have something else – there's no real OGC involvement."

"I'm happy to listen for a few minutes and eat your chef's excellent lunch, Mr. Secretary." A political – albeit highly qualified - appointee as General Counsel of the Navy, Melanie Vanderlin was secretly amused by the continuing saga. From time to time, A.J. Chegwidden had loaned her MacKenzie or Rabb for brief periods - usually for international law projects, and she had a high regard for both of them. She'd felt from the start that Cresswell had bungled the transfer and resignation fiasco of the well-known duo.

Admiral Moses Gilgamesh and General Reuben Stark looked pointedly at Biff Cresswell. The three had agreed that the cornerstone for the prototype's success would be a strong CO and XO who would have the trust and respect of both a mixed Navy/Marine Corps staff and the Commanders, Commanding Generals and CO's in the large and diverse San Diego military region.

A coin toss had gained the Marines the first CO pick. MacKenzie had been their unanimous choice, and they'd agreed to let her choose a blue-suit JAG as her XO.

"Biff, we have to face facts. Turner is on his third XO and just isn't cutting it as a leader. The grapevine as well as feedback from the MCPON and the Corps' Sergeant Major, both of whom visited San Diego recently, reports nothing but an increasing intensity of grumbles from both the JLSO staff and the area commands. If the JLSO is to have a prayer for success, we've got to make a change, and fast. Now, who do you have to send in?" Sheffield was blunt. He was tired of the weekly whine.

"No one right now. We're stretched to the max because of the war; some of the possibles have opted to retire or been medical'd out." Cresswell's response rarely varied by more than a word from week to week.

Sheffield grimaced and threw his pen onto the table. "Not the answer anymore," he snapped. "I want this to work. We sold the senior leadership and Congress on the concept and re-programmed considerable funding for it." He'd had it with the whining about Turner and dropped his bombshell. "Now, what will it take to get Mackenzie back on active duty and out there?"

Cresswell's response was immediate and furious. "She had her chance and threw it away! She could have sucked up a geo-bachelor tour like others do. Do you think I liked being away from my family for three tours?"

The General Counsel decided to weigh in and try to help salvage things. "You could have refused to let her resign and given Rabb something in San Diego, especially after the court wouldn't let him take the kid – his ward - out of the country. We're supposed to have a spouse co-location policy and be sensitive to special needs children. I heard what happened – face it Biff, you were mad at both of them and punished them."

"Your OGC counsel can spend their whole damn career in one place if they want. Don't tell me how to manage my troops!"

"Melanie. Biff." The two 4-stars spoke together. "This is getting us nowhere. We all wanted MacKenzie, we let her go, and if we want this concept to succeed, we need to fix things." The Commandant scorched Cresswell with a look and repeated the SecNav's question. "What'll it take?"

Biff Cresswell still had visions of a third star. He knew when to beat a strategic retreat. "She'd have to request recall to active duty." He took a deep breath and reminded himself grimly _'for the good of the service'...for the good of the Corps.' _COMUSNAVEUR is totally happy with Rabb and his staff JAG team but the admin work is always a mess. Rabb's a brilliant investigator and litigator, a great leader, but he's just not cut out for meetings and reports. Having to gap his Deputy FJA billet just made it worse. My guess is the incentive for MacKenzie will be a good billet for Rabb in San Diego and letting her pick her XO. That's assuming, of course, that she's tired of playing housefrau."

The Commandant smirked. "I stopped in to see Rabb when I was in London last month. He looked frazzled and tired. Mac came in unexpectedly with their baby and he perked up. She looked ….I dunno …sort of lost. After she left, I asked him if it had worked out and if they were happy…. I couldn't get a really straight answer out of him. My guess is that neither one of them is totally thrilled with the way things worked out."

"Well, that's life," Cresswell snapped harshly.

"Gentlemen." Sheffield was losing patience. He had no intention of his prize project failing and having to explain it to Congresswoman Bobbi Lathem's subcommittee. "Who do you have to relieve Rabb and what can you offer him? You know MacKenzie won't go without him."

Cresswell knew it was time to bite the bullet. "When my senior JAG in Iraq short-toured because of bone cancer, I twisted Col Sybil Blankfeld's arm to take it. I had to promise her she could pick her next billet and she wants London. Something about promising her kid she can study ballet at the Royal Conservatory. I figured I'd extend her in Iraq a few months and get Rabb out of there a little early to make the PRDs match."

"Well, I'm sure she won't be sad at being short-toured," the Commandant grinned. "Do you have anything for Rabb?"

"Hey, just a minute," Admiral Gilgamesh bleated. "COMUSNAVEUR's a Navy JAG billet."

"Stuff it." Sheffield wasn't going to let the Navy/Marine Corps rivalry interfere. "Can she do the job?"

"Not a problem," Cresswell assured.

"So, what's for Rabb?" The General Counsel was interested in how this was going to play out. If things didn't work out, she'd offer Rabb or MacKenzie or both a GS 15 OGC job in a heartbeat. "And who gets Turner?"

"I'll bring him back to Headquarters." Cresswell sighed, resigned to his fate. "My guess is that LCDR Roberts will be part of the package. I can use Turner as Chief of Staff or he can be the senior litigation attorney until he retires."

"As for Rabb, I actually do have something he'll probably like and be really good at. The Regional NCIS SAC at 32nd Street called me this week and requested help. They have a number of really junior agents, they've lost some cases they shouldn't have, and need a top-notch investigator to supervise and train them. Rabb can do all that, and since he won't be in his wife's chain of command, he can maybe take an occasional case into court."

"Sounds like a plan." Sheffield relaxed his shoulders, pleased that Cresswell had caved. "What'd you mean about LCDR Roberts? He's been impressive – he's really grown into the Chief of Staff thing."

Biff grimaced. "That he has and I'll hate to lose him, but my guess is, MacKenzie will insist on him as her XO. Even if she doesn't, I think I should just hand him a set of orders and ship him out there. Except for a Rabb/MacKenzie team, they're the best chance we have of turning the JLSO around…. Damn, she's sure to want Coates too. It'll be like turning the clock back 18 months."

"Well, don't mess it up this time." The Commandant's voice was cold. "Who's going to call London?" General Stark's tone made it clear that it wasn't going to be him.

"Flip for it?" The CNO smiled slyly. Admiral Gilgamesh had enjoyed a private laugh when he'd heard the story of the coin toss at McMurphy's. ….until ensuing events in San Diego began to cause him concern.

"Hell NO!" Cresswell and Sheffield spoke as one.

"Ahh….I'm not their favorite CO." This was not a call Cresswell was looking forward to making.

"Tough." Sheffield was firm. "You and I caused this mess – you by getting pissed at them and me by letting you. You fix it. If either of them balks, you tell me and I'll call them. But my guess is that if either or both isn't thrilled with life in London they'll jump at it. Now, make it happen."

"Yes sir." Biff knew an order when he heard one. "I'll call them at home so I can talk to both of them."

"What rank and who's paying all the unplanned PCS costs? One of Turner's many problems has been lack of credibility because he's only an 0-5." The CNO wanted everything settled.

Cresswell grimaced again. He thought his face was likely to fall off. "When a name's removed from the promotion list for certain admin reasons, we have two years to restore it. This isn't quite what the reg was written for, but I think we can make it happen."

"I'll split the bucks for the six PCS transfers with you." The CNO nodded at his counterpart. Despite the loss of the COMUSNAVEUR JAG billet to the Marines, at least for one cycle, he was feeling conciliatory. "Maybe it was part my fault … I was pretty adamant I wanted Rabb for London."

"Okay. The new FY's begun so I've got PCS money again." The Commandant wanted to wrap it up and move on. Looking pointedly at Cresswell, he repeated Sheffield's directive. "Make it happen Biff. Email all of us after you talk to them."

"Yes sir." _At least it won't break my budget. Small favors_, Cresswell grumped to himself.

"Make it happen," the SecNav repeated himself firmly. 'Til Monday staff meeting, gentlemen and Melanie, barring another weekend crisis somewhere in the world."

End Part III.


	4. Chapter 4

Second Chances – Part IV—06/09/06

A/N

1. Part IV begins about 2 hours after Parts I-III took place.

2. Habits of a lifetime and/or patterns of behavior established during nine years' association don't just "evaporate" overnight! Hence, a warning for readers who have stayed with us thus far—a short stretch of rocky road ahead. We promise: there's a happy ending coming up!

Glossary of military terms and abbreviations used in this chapter:

1. DivO – short for Division Officer, typically a section or branch head. Harm's FJA office might have criminal law, civil and admin law, claims and international law divisions, each headed by a senior LT or LCDR.

2. LN and "C" School – see Part I.

1900/7:00 p.m.

London

13 October 2006

Emerging from the Russell Square underground tube station into the damp mist of the London evening, Harm moved easily through the throng of commuters intent on their journey home, or to the warmth and lights of the nearby pubs, restaurants, shops and cinema on Marchmont and the nearby streets. Intent on reaching their flat and seeing Mac and Mahara, he realized that he already felt better. Even though it would be months, maybe even a year, before he would actually be retired and in San Diego with his family, he knew he had made the right decision. He wasn't looking forward to admitting to Mac that he'd made a mistake when he'd suggested the fateful coin toss that had changed both their lives, but he didn't think she'd be unhappy to be returning to the States as soon as possible.

Mac ….just thinking about his wife made Harm's heart beat faster. His wife! The only good thing to have come out of this mess he'd gotten himself into was that Mac was his and he was hers. Mahara was the icing on the cake …their 4 miracle come to life. Mac …Harm's pace slowed momentarily … she had never voiced regret at the choice she'd made, accepting fate's decision, giving up her promotion, her chance to command, her commission, but he'd been vaguely aware, for months, that she wasn't really happy. While there was no doubt in his mind that she loved him and their beautiful daughter, he knew that acclimating to life in London had been hard for her. With the dense fog of the last year's depression over his job lifting from his mind, Harm thought uneasily about just how hard it had been for her. No friends, unable to work, no money of her own, …he'd spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

Crossing to the street across from Cartwright Gardens and seeing the lights of the houses lining the court glowing through the mist, Harm quickened his pace, eager to reach the warmth of his home and family.

He was surprised that Mac wasn't in the lounge to greet him, the TV wasn't on …no music or radio ….the room was cold and dark. He realized with a start that for the first time, he'd forgotten to call her before leaving the office. He was at least an hour earlier than usual, even for a Friday. Moving swiftly through the hall towards the light in the room they shared as a home office he called softly, not wanting to wake the baby if she was sleeping. "Mac…are you home?" His unease grew when silence answered him, but he relaxed and smiled as he saw her head on the desk, Mahara sleeping in her carrier next to the computer.

"Hey, did you fall asleep….?" Bending over to kiss her cheek, he saw the damp paths of her tears and knew immediate fear … Mac almost never cried. He touched her arm lightly, not wanting to startle her awake. "Mac, what's wrong? Are you okay? Did something happen?"

Jerking awake at his voice and touch, Mac was disoriented for a moment, then remembered both her afternoon pity party and her worries about her husband. Rubbing her cheeks, she forced herself to smile, "Ah…Sailor, did you call? I must have dozed off."

"I'm sorry, I left in a hurry. Mac, what's the matter…you've been crying."

"Harm, I'm okay …just a little down." Mac evaded his questions, not wanting to let him know how much she dreaded the second half of his tour.

He leaned down to grab her hand and pulled her up so he could hold her in his arms. God! He loved that particular feeling, how she was just the right size for him to rest his head on top of hers. "I've got something to tell you which will probably make you feel better." He nuzzled her hair just a little, loving the scent of her shampoo and cologne.

He heard her voice float up to him "What?" Her voice was still had a touch of sleep in it.

"I've decided to put in for retirement as soon as possible."

He felt her stiffen, and for the umpteenth time today, his stomach, which had just relaxed, tightened up again! She made an effort to release herself from his arms and he knew he had "screwed up" with her—once again! Only this time, he wondered how and why.

She grabbed the baby monitor and turned to go into the lounge, saying on her way out, "Harm, we need to talk."

He was suddenly aware, for at least the fourth time that day, of a sinking feeling in his stomach. When she acted like this, it usually led to a gut-wrenching confrontation. Distractedly, he wondered if she knew she telegraphed her anger this way. (There was a lot he had learned about Mac in the eighteen months since their marriage ceremony occurred. And he had thought he had known her well before!) Leaving the baby with a tender caress of her soft hair – they'd hear her if she woke or cried - he followed her into the main lounge where he saw that she had taken up a post in the middle of the room, placed her hands on her hips, and asked in her "I'm-a-Marine—I take no prisoners" voice.

"What the hell is going on with you?"

He gulped. An instinctive defensive posture took over—he could feel his facial muscles harden and automatically, the words came—before he could think! "What do you mean—what's going on?"

It was like pouring fuel on a fire. Her temper blazed. "Harm, you're not talking to me! I thought we were supposed to be in this together! Instead" — she lowered her voice a bit not wanting to wake Mahara and threw her hands up in the air in exasperation, "you've made like a mummy or one of my fossils!—and now, you've arbitrarily made a decision to retire—without ever even talking to me about it!" He could tell she was frustrated. "You never tell me anything about what's going on at work—and I can tell you're not happy!—and that's only because I know you so well!"

"Well, what about you?" This wasn't the conversation Harm had planned on and it was fast getting away from him. Maybe. . .'the only good defense was a good offense. "You haven't exactly been the 'fountain of information', either!" He was strongly reminded of a couple of conversations with Renee about this very topic—and Renee had backed down. He was forcibly reminded this was Mac—who would never back down!

"The issue isn't about me, Harm!" Her voice was low—although her emotions were running as high as they had been in her confrontation with Sadik—or any of her many arguments/quarrels with Clay. She was distracted just briefly by a grateful thought: "Thank God I have the Marine training—I will not wake Mahara with shouting!" She bit her lip and continued. "I know you're not happy—but you're not telling me a damned thing!" He thought he saw her frustrated—a rarity for his Marine! "It's almost like . . . like you have no faith in me!" The tears were there behind her eyes—they were glistening.

Like a tape record, the confrontation in the _Watertown_ replayed in his mind. Without being able to stop himself, he shot back, "And you resent me!"

"You have an overblown sense of importance ---" she was really angry now, and her face was flushed with the effort of keeping her voice low. Somewhere in the back of her mind, there was a little flag waving frantically, saying she might be going just a bit too far, but in her anger—and frustration, she ignored it.—"and you're letting that get in the way of 'us'"

She couldn't know, but she had added fuel to his own anger. He was already feeling as though he were unimportant—and she had played right into that. He gritted his teeth and his hands clenched into fists. The strong emotional controls he had learned as a child kicked in and he tried desperately not to feel the grayness that had finally started lifting come back.

"So it's my fault that you're not happy with your choice!" He ground his teeth, seething with anger and resentment. His usual sarcastic mode kicked in. "Let's see—it's my 'problem'you couldn't continue your career!" Inwardly, he cringed as he heard his own tone of voice. Trying to take control of the conversation obviously wasn't working any better than before.

As usual, Mac wasn't "buying" into it! It was one of the things he loved most about her—although at times, it made for unpleasant moments—like now!

"Do you remember when you and Josh Pendry went on that Tiger cruise?"

He nodded miserably but, for once, managed to keep his mouth shut!

"Do you know what Annie told me?" He was shocked—he hadn't known Annie and Mac had talked to each other in any significant depth—although he did know she was "there" for Annie while he—and others—had extracted him and Josh from the situation he had inadvertently put them in. He looked down into blazing brown eyes. "She said you never take responsibility for your feelings! That's exactly what you're doing now!" All of a sudden, Mac's voice broke. "I was hoping I could help you with that." Her voice gained some strength. "As an alcoholic, I've learned you can't just suppress your emotions—you have to deal with them." She backed away from him slowly, shaking her head. Her voice was firm, although her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "You're not dealing with them, Harm! You're suppressing!" She suddenly threw up her arms, turned her back, and started walking away from him.

His buried anger surfaced. He couldn't contain himself, military discipline be damned! He reached for her and caught her upper arm. "You are not walking away from me this time, MacKenzie!" His voice had a low, feral quality to it, and it was her tremor of—was it fear?—made him stop short. Was she afraid of him? In a flash, he was taken back to his court martial for the murder of LT Singer. He remembered with a stunning clarity, Coates' very damning testimony and he was appalled! The anger dissipated, as suddenly as it had appeared. He let go of her arm and took a step back himself, as if to give her space. He looked down at the ground and shook his head.

"I'm so sorry, Mac." He glanced at her. "I don't want to hurt you—not now, not ever again. And I certainly don't want you to ever feel afraid of me!" He glanced down at the floor and then, quickly, back up at her again. "You're not afraid of me, are you?"

He waited with baited breath. A lot depended on her answer, so far as he was concerned. If she confessed to being afraid of him physically. . . He would go away forever. It was the one thing he absolutely could not live with. He gritted his teeth, shut his eyes, and forced the words out of him. "Can you forgive me?"

Just then, they heard a muffled sound over the baby monitor. Their attention was immediately diverted, the argument deflating and while not forgotten, losing its momentum. "I'll see if she's awake," Harm muttered, even as Mac took a deep breath "I'll put dinner in the oven, can you wait to eat?"

Moving quickly back to the room where the baby waited, Harm almost let out a hiss in frustration! How many times during the nine years or so they had both been at JAG HQ had something, a phone call, a person walking in at the wrong time, how many times had that happened and their relationship—or non-relationship, depending on where in that nine years they were—had just been suspended and never brought up again! He knew they needed to talk this out, but he also knew they needed a break.

Planning to pick up the baby he paused as he realized that she wasn't actually awake – she must have just made a sound in her sleep. Watching her for a moment, his face relaxed as he marveled at her tiny, perfect features.

"Can you wait to eat or do you want a snack? It'll be almost an hour in the oven." Mac's tone was apologetic, as she came up next to him to watch the baby too. "Harm I'm sorry, I know I push your buttons sometimes. And I know," she took a very deep breath, "I've also asked you to 'let go' of that tremendous self-control." There was another deep breath. Then she continued. "You are among the strongest, most self-controlled people I've ever had the privilege of knowing. You didn't even cry when Mattie was hurt!" Her face really softened and the tears came rolling down her face. "Your only problem is you don't know how and when to 'let go' and how much to 'let go'." She stepped towards him hesitantly.

"Awww…Mac." Tentatively, their arms went around each other. "I love you." His voice broke as he whispered against her hair.

"I know you do, Sailor, and I love you, but we can't just co-exist here. What's eating at you, Harm?" This time her voice was soft and tender. It was if releasing her own frustration had resolved whatever "issues" she had been trying to deal with by herself and they had gone away.

In the aftermath of such an emotional encounter—of which neither of them was entirely used to or comfortable with--, it was comforting to have the freedom of the physical touch. As he held her, his hands started caressing in the very gentle manner he knew she loved. It was such a perverse difference in her personality, he had been continually amazed! He also made a mental note to himself—he was old enough—and hopefully wise enough—to realize her issues hadn't just dissolved instantly in that short-term release of energy conveyed by her tone of voice at the beginning of this "discussion". He would gently—he reminded himself—gently pursue the issue—but later.

Holding each other's hands, they turned back to the lounge, but Mac tugged at his hand "…we have an hour …let's lay down, we'll hear Mahara on the bedroom monitor if she wakes up."

There was at first a very tentative feel to his movements, his touches, as if he hesitated to touch her. She reached for his face, holding it between her hands, much like she had on that first night in his loft when finally, the stars and the planets had aligned for them ….finally….when she'd nearly given up hope, even as she'd summoned all the strength and courage of her inner Marine to go to him.

"Harm." Her voice was soft, warm, and welcoming—but the iron control he had on his emotions still held and he ducked so he wouldn't have to look in her eyes. Despite her words and touch, he was afraid of what he would read in them. Her voice grew just a tad more insistent. "Harm. Look at me."

He slowly—and painfully—shifted his head so he could look her in the face.

"What do you think you see here?" Again—her voice, that siren song he had managed to duck for so many years—only, after 18 months of marriage, there should have been no reason to duck. He tentatively faced her, and finding nothing there in which to be frightened, he held his head up a little more firmly.

"I'm worried, Mac."

"Worried about what?" Her voice was soft, tender. This was a rare moment, and he got the impression she wasn't going to let this moment pass without taking advantage of it.

"Mac," he shifted uncomfortably. "You never answered my question."

"Which question was that?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "You know—the one about being afraid of me?"

He saw her face contort in concentration and confusion, then brighten. "Oh-h-h-—THAT question!"

He could only nod dumbly. She cuddled in closer to him. "Is that what's been—oh, never mind!" She shifted so she could look him directly in the face! "Harm why, …what would ever give you the impression I'd be afraid of you? But anyway, the answer to that, flyboy, is never! I am not now, nor ever have been, nor ever will be afraid of you!" She backed off, a quizzical question written across her expression. "Is that what's been eating at you since our 'discussion' was interrupted?"

He could only nod in the affirmative. "Oh, Harm!" She scooted in to smother his face with soft little gentle kisses. "Your overgrown conscience! Honestly!" He

started to relax, hearing the fondness …the love …in her exasperation. "You sometimes have the tendency to see the worst in yourself and the best in everybody else." Then, she slid down into the bed further and brought him down with her. "Make love to me, Harm! You're a man of action—let me show you how unafraid I am of you!" Her voice dropped to a sultry, seductress level. "I'm not made of glass—I won't break—"then that funny little grin that melted his heart every time he saw it appeared: "I'm a Marine, you know!"

He gladly let go of the control and willingly, happily sank into her loving warmth, taking comfort and joy from her words and actions like he had never been willing to take from any other woman he'd ever been with!

His feelings, his emotions were very close to the surface tonight, and after their mutual climax and soft, whispered murmurs of pleasure and contentment, he felt his tears come, freer than at any time he could remember.

Mac felt his tears first, and shifted so she could take him into her arms and hold him like she would a little boy crying over a skinned knee. She patted him on the back and made an effort to bring their bodies closer together. She instinctively knew this was the one thing he had gone without for so many years—since Renee had left, anyway—and it would be the one thing that would help release those raging, deeply-felt and so hopelessly entangled emotions of his out into the open. She reasoned to herself, Harm was a man of action, making love was action, and, in a weird sort-of-way, she knew there was a connection there. Somehow most men seemed to be wired that way—where making love helped them to open up, while most women seemed to be wired the other way, for the most part.

He looked up and saw that small grin crossing her face. He didn't sense any animosity or any one-upsmanship in her expression—just a caring—and knowing—humor.

"What's with the smile, Marine?" His voice was just a little jagged from his crying.

"Oh, I was thinking about the differences between the sexes. Viva la difference! As the French say."

He caught on and he chuckled, too. "Makes life interesting, doesn't it?"

There was that "cat-that-ate-the-canary-and-didn't-care-if-the-evidence-was-still-present-on-it's-whiskers' look—one he didn't see too often, especially these days when she no longer went to court—and it was a look he cherished! "We wouldn't want life to be too dull, now, would we?"

This time, a full-bodied laugh shook their respective bodies! He felt—what—cleansed, washed, free for the first time in a very long time. He turned on his back, sat up and fluffed the pillows, and held open his arms, gathering her close as she scooted into them. "You know what, MacKenzie?" He was still chuckling. "Life with you will never be dull!" He got serious then, and bent just enough to plant a kiss on the top of her head. His voice was very quiet. "Thank you for all of that, Mac!"

She just snuggled in closer, as if she knew what he was trying to say, and accepted it in the spirit in which his statement was given. That was so different than the way it used to be between them, when miscommunication and misunderstanding was the rule of the day between them, and he squeezed her tighter in thanksgiving.

"Mac," Harm spoke slowly. " I was thinking all afternoon today. I know I've shut you out – I thought I could just suck it up…"

"Harm, did something happen at work? I've felt for months you haven't been really happy with your work at NAVEUR, but you've never mentioned retiring early."

"Yes…and no. Today was like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that…the 547th day of hell at work since we got here. Mac, what would you say to moving to California as soon as I can retire?"

Repeating his bombshell announcement, this time it poured out like an oil spill onto the Thames. Harm told Mac everything, blaming himself for suggesting the coin toss, how he hated the paperwork, reports, meetings and bureaucracy that made up his days, how much he missed the action of investigations and trial work, how General Cresswell was never satisfied, how worried he was about Mattie, how bad he felt that she couldn't work in England. He let her know he wanted to be a hand-on dad, not just giving his daughter a bottle twice a day. He even confessed what the doctor had told him about his blood pressure and how depressed he'd been for months. Finally, he told her again what he had decided that afternoon about wanting to retire to San Diego.

Except for his worry about Mattie's lack of progress in rehab, which they had talked about, Mac was floored. "Harm, why didn't you tell me? I could have helped with the reports …they're a chief of staff or admin officer's bread and butter … you shouldn't have to be doing them all yourself, anyway. That's what your staff is for. I feel so bad you've been struggling with this by yourself." Mac berated herself, "I got so wrapped up in my stupid schedule of things to do to keep busy I didn't realize you were hurting. I haven't been a good friend or a good wife."

"Mac, that works both ways. I've been so wrapped up in how unhappy I am at work I haven't focused on how you feel by yourself all day except for Mahara. This isn't the life either of us wants."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Awww …Mac, I couldn't …I couldn't admit to myself, let alone you, that I'd messed up suggesting flipping a coin instead of making a real decision together."

"So what happened today, that you made up your mind?"

"Oh God! Today was just the last straw … the rain …. just more of the same from Cresswell …I stayed at the office til past 8 last night on his quarterly metrics report and he was his usual ...'not quite what's needed, rework it and resubmit' … in that cold, hard voice he uses to talk "at" me. This time he wanted pie charts, I'd done bar graphs! I'll never be able to satisfy him with the admin work. I went to two 'we need to consider changing our policy' meetings that accomplished nothing, gave five answers by phone to simple security and admin questions, and met with my DivO's, who reported that everything's on track. If that's what a Captain does all day, someone else can do it. I want a real job. I want to work with my partner again."

"Okay, Sailor …I hear you. I'll help you fix your report tomorrow if you didn't finish it this afternoon and I can ghost-write for you from now on, as long as they're not classified. I need something to do….but right now, I need another kiss."

"Mmmm…" They cuddled together just holding each other, until the oven timer interrupted. "I'm starving, let's eat – I never had lunch. Do we need to wake Mahara? I want to keep talking even if it means she'll have us up all night."

"Just a little while more, Harm, or she'll be all off her schedule. She's a good baby, but she's used to a bottle about now and sleeping from 11 to 5, not all evening." Mac grabbed her robe and started for the kitchen, "No matter what's happened to either of us, she's still the best thing that's happened to "US" here."

They ate quickly, wanting to keep talking. "Now you Mac …I want to know why you were crying. And don't tell me you weren't, Marine, I saw."

"Uh..." Mac blinked back tears at the private endearment. Somehow, neither had ever become comfortable with "sweetie" or "honey" or any of the typical endearments most couples use, their familiar "Sailor" and "Marine" carrying them beyond their friendship as they'd entered the uncharted waters of new lovers.

"What's in the box, Mac? All the papers and the CDs – did you finish your book?"

"Not quite a "book" – the dissertation I'll never defend, for the degree I'll never get… Yeah, it's done, proofed, printed…I was just having a little private pity party, trying to figure out what to do for the next 547 days, 13,128 hours." Mac sighed and chuckled, glad she was able to find humor in it, "we were on the same page but didn't know it. We've both been bored and unhappy. I've envied your life at work…even though I've been worried about you." Mac laughed at the irony.

"Why didn't you tell me, Mac? I would have understood." Harm rubbed small circles on her arm, hating how unhappy she'd been and that he hadn't realized.

"Understood what? That I have the beautiful daughter I'd longed for, the husband of my dreams, shoes in my closet but it wasn't enough? That I wanted more? I was ashamed of myself, Harm, that I wasn't satisfied with my life. Especially because I chose it – I'd said I'd trade my career as Marine for a career as Mom."

"Ahhh…we're some pair…..I promise you and you promise me, Mac, we're in this together. No more strong and silent. All we'll do is both get ulcers." Harm reached across the table to hold her hands in his.

"Monday, I'll call Cresswell, fax my letter to him, and ask that the 9 to 12 months notice required by the SECNAV Instruction be waived. I won't hold my breath, though, he's not about to do us any favors. Mac, why has he been like this? He wasn't ever a touchy-feely CO, but I never took him for heartless like he's been, not caring about Mattie, denying me leave to go see her, never anything but cold and formal and full of complaints about his damn reports."

"Harm, we were so full of ourselves 'leaving it to fate' that we blindsided him at McMurphy's." Hindsight was easy, Mac's tone was rueful. "You don't do that to a CO. We both should have known better. Maybe if we'd gone to see him right away and asked him to help us … but we made him look like a fool with the SecNav and everyone, giving me the JLSO CO billet and then I threw it in his face, resigning without notice like I did. He did at least three unaccompanied tours, he figured we could do one."

"Well, if we had it to do over again …but we can't, so if we have to suck it up for another year, we will. But things are going to be different." Harm was adamant. "No more 14 hours at work every single day. No more every Saturday in the office. After I tell Admiral Randall right after the NAVEUR staff meeting Monday morning, I'm going to sit down with my DivO's and put together a duty roster. They need to take a turn at evening and weekend duty and some of the admin work instead of me doing it all. They can call if it's an emergency they can't handle. And I'm going to talk to the Chief about rotating the LNs – Petty Officer Vaughn hates having to be the front office secretary just because she's junior. She didn't go to LN "C" School to be a receptionist. If I don't make a change, she'll just get out when her enlistment's up."

"I want to start running with you and going to the gym again ...get these extra pounds off." Harm grimaced. "I feel every ounce."

"Sailor, you've got yourself a personal trainer."

"I love you Mac." Harm was near tears again. "I'm so sorry I got us into this. It's cost you your career…"

"Harm, don't beat yourself up like this," Mac reached over and gently stroked his cheek and neck. "Although I know that's probably a 'lost cause'!" She grinned, an expression that was genuine and "pure", for the first time since he had arrived home. He was strangely comforted by the sight. "You couldn't have known everything that's happened would happen. I promised myself, when the coin hit the floor, that I'd never play 'what if.' I have you and we have Mahara. If we'd gone to San Diego the doctors there might have said "not a chance" or the stress of standing up the JLSO might have caused a miscarriage or ...lots of things. I love you and you love me, we have our baby and your folks are taking good care of Mattie. That's all that's really important."

"I know money's tight, Mac, but we didn't have a wedding, a honeymoon, or a vacation the whole time we've been here. Just a couple of mad dash trips back and forth to La Jolla. I'm going to tell Cresswell I want two weeks leave and I want you to choose someplace nice for us to go. We need to take care of ourselves."

"Harm, we've taken more care of "us" in an hour and 27 minutes than in 18 months married and living together. We can manage another year." Mac was truly floored at how Harm had opened up to her.

"I know we can and we'll probably have to but we need a break. I know you haven't bought a single pair of shoes since we've been here…you barely bought any maternity clothes." Harm still felt guilty at what he saw as his failure to support his family.

"Ohhh…I don't need shoes to walk barefoot on the beach in San Diego," Mac teased. "Let's study together for the California Bar this winter and plan to open an office …or a PI firm…I want to be partners again too. I've missed that the most," Mac confessed shyly.

The loud ring of the phone startled them and woke Mahara, whose hungry wail communicated loud and clear over the infant monitor.

End Part IV.


	5. Chapter 5

Second Wind Part V.a

Note to readers – we are having a great deal of difficulty posting this chapter on fanficfiction. net. We've gotten error messages indicating the file is "empty" though I know it's not – we've posted Chapter 5 successfully on the three voy boards! In case it exceeds the length limits, though we don't think it does, we have broken it into two sections.

Glossary of military and other acronyms used in Part V:

1. Short-tour. This refers to being transferred to a new duty station before your projected rotation date from your present duty station.

2. ASAP. "As soon as possible," however, it means "immediately" and is not generally considered a polite request!

3. Broken service. This refers to a service member having been released from active duty at the expiration of obligated service, resigning, retiring, etc, but later returning to active duty.

Other acronyms are defined in part III.

2100/9:00 p.m.

Rabb/MacKenzie Flat

London

13 October 2006

"I'll take her," Harm gestured to Mac to get the phone as he lifted the infant, smiling gently as her rosebud mouth pursed in the age-old way hungry babies have.

"Mmmmm…Harm's large hand gently supported the back of the little girl's head, covered with soft dark down. "Hungry, Mahara? Bottle first or a dry diaper first?"

He was so good with her. Mac's whole face smiled watching them as she absently answered the phone. "Hello?"

In Falls Church, Virginia, Major General Gordon Cresswell paused. He'd assumed Harm would answer the phone and had no idea what to call Mac. She wasn't a Colonel anymore, he had no idea if she went by "Mrs. Rabb" or "Ms. MacKenzie," both of which sounded too formal, and they'd never been on a first name basis.

"Hello?" Mac was beginning to get annoyed. If someone had hung up, the phone had woken Mahara needlessly before she and Harm were finished talking.

"This is Biff Cresswell."

"General, good evening." On active duty or not, 16 years' training in proper military decorum wasn't gone. Mac responded automatically with professional courtesy. "I'll get Harm for you."

"Thank you…uh…do you have a speaker phone? I'd like to talk to both of you." Cresswell had gathered his wits.

"Yes, but the phone woke the baby and Harm's with her. If you want to talk to me too, may we call you back in a few minutes?" Mac's tone was courteous, but as far as she was concerned, Cresswell was Harm's problem, not hers, except insofar as he upset Harm. This was her home and her family who had been disturbed on a Friday night.

"That's fine. I'm sorry to disturb you at home, but I really do need to talk with both of you." Cresswell had noted Mac's cool, albeit courteous, tone. After the initial "congratulations," his behavior at McMurphy's had verged on the unprofessional when he realized Mac really did mean to resign her commission. He'd refused to meet with her the next day and hadn't seen or spoken to her since. This would not be an easy call.

"We'll call back in about ten minutes, Sir."

Part 5B will follow immediately.


	6. Chapter 5b

Part V.b

Continues immediately after Part V.a

"Who was it Mac?" Harm returned with a clean, dry baby greedily sucking her bottle. Seating himself close to Mac, he held the child so that she could touch Mahara too. "Was it my folks or Mattie?" It was a little too early in California for Mattie to be calling – she should be at school after her morning therapy sessions. She usually called at two or three every afternoon in between classes so that she could speak briefly with them and coo baby talk at Mahara for a few minutes before they went to bed.

"No…it was General Cresswell. He knows what time it is here, because he said he was sorry to bother us at home. I said we'd call back."

Harm's face darkened as he scowled. If Cresswell was calling to complain further about the pie charts, he didn't know if he could control himself.

"Calm down." The hand that wasn't stroking Mahara's arm traced small circles on Harm's. "We'll just deal with it together …. Though, why do you think he wants to talk to both of us? I've no idea what he could want with me – I'm not on active duty and haven't had any contact with him in 18 months. Mac's unease was growing. "Do you think something could have happened to Bud or Harriet or Coates?" Mac couldn't imagine why Cresswell wanted to talk to her too. They hadn't parted on good terms.

"No idea. Like you say, we'll deal with it, whatever it is." Harm was terse. Never close to Cresswell, the JAG was far from his favorite person these days.

"We probably should tell him I'd planned to call Monday to let him know I'm retiring soonest. That way, he won't be able to complain that it has anything to do with whatever he wants."

"That's probably best," Mac nodded. "Are you ready to talk to him?"

"Yeah…" Harm resented the intrusion, tonight of all nights. "Let's get it over with."

Hitting re-dial and the speakerphone button, Mac was surprised when Cresswell answered on his private line.

"General Cresswell."

"It's Captain Rabb, Sir, returning your call." Harm didn't intend to let the general upset Mac, whatever he wanted.

"Thanks for calling back. I'm sorry to disturb your evening but I wanted to talk to you both before the weekend." Cresswell paused, trying to decide exactly how to proceed. "How is your baby, your family?"

"Mahara's fine. Mattie is in California with my folks, in school and rehab." Harm was brief. He had no interest in polite chit-chat with the general.

"She's continuing to improve, I hope?"

"Not really, but I haven't been able to see her in some months." Harm was growing increasingly impatient with the small talk. The general was not his friend. Carefully, he passed Mahara to Mac, who had placed a clean dishcloth on her shoulder and prepared to burp the now-squirming baby.

The JAG was pleased at the unexpected entrée he'd been given. "Captain, Colonel, that can be arranged. I'm calling to ask you both to take orders to San Diego."

Even as their eyes opened wide and their mouths gaped, Mac started to do a slow burn. "General, I'm not on active duty."

"Ahhh…that can be arranged too, Colonel … the SecNav, the CNO, the Commandant and I met today. We want …we'd like you to request recall to active duty," Cresswell dropped his bombshell and waited.

Even as they stared at each other, Harm and Mac held a whole silent conversation. Less than an hour ago, they had agreed that Harm would retire as soon as possible. Was fate about to intervene?

"For what purpose, General?" Mac forced her voice to remain calm.

"We want you to take the JLSO CO billet." Cresswell spoke carefully, emphasizing the "we." Of all the things she might have possibly expected Cresswell to say, this had never crossed Mac's mind. She'd burned that bridge 18 months ago.

"Sir?"

"Mac, you were our unanimous choice as CO two years ago when we decided to stand up a prototype, you still are."

"Why now, General?"

At least she hadn't turned it down flat or gotten huffy or sarcastic. Biff began to hope this might work. "The JLSO has run into problems; we feel you're still the best we've got to turn it around."

"Problems?" This unexpected out-of-the-blue call might solve a lot of problems, but Mac wasn't about to let on. "And what about Harm's billet?"

"Leadership problems." Cresswell was blunt.

Part 5C will follow immediately.


	7. author's note

We are continuing to have a great deal of difficulty posting Chapter V. We broke it into 3 sections; the software accepted 5a and 5b. We will continue trying to post 5c and 6a and 6b. We've tried to contact tech support but haven't heard back from them. Second Wind is also posted at JAGNIK, JAGhaven and the Harmy Board Extras Fan Fic. Appreciate your patience!


	8. Chapter 5c

Part 5.c – immediately after 5.b

Harm turned away from the phone, trying not to choke out loud. After Sturgis' stint as Acting JAG, he could have told anyone that Turner would have problems as a CO, especially in a new environment, but no one had asked him.

"Will you do it?"

"There would be several considerations General. Who would the senior staff be, and what about Harm? You're asking him to short-tour?" Mac's voice left no doubt there'd be "conditions" not "considerations." What mess would she be going to? Just minutes before, she and Harm had been planning his retirement, excited about a civilian future together in San Diego.

"You can choose your XO and other staff, just like …uh….before. Some turnover is needed." Cresswell's voice was non-committal. She'd find out fast enough how bad things were at the JLSO.

"Harm, I realize I'm asking you to short-tour from COMUSNAVEUR, but you'd be in San Diego with all your family." Cresswell both dangled the carrot and tried to convey a conciliatory tone at the same time. He knew he hadn't been fair to Rabb since he'd called from the Blacksburg courthouse.

"What would my billet be, General?" Harm tried not to let his excitement show, but at the same time, he was starting to feel hopeful. Maybe he wouldn't have to retire after all. He loved the Navy; it was just his current duties he couldn't stand.

Briefly, Cresswell explained the NCIS SAC's request, emphasizing the investigating, training and supervisory duties, as well as noting the possibility of prosecuting some cases in Federal District Court or at court-martial. "This billet really fits your talents, Rabb." He held his breath, not being able to see, of course, the huge grins on both Harm's and Mac's faces.

"What about my Force JAG billet here Sir? I have no deputy to fleet up." He couldn't help his resentment at the gapped billet from showing in his voice. If he'd had a deputy, either Bud or someone else, things might have been so different. "I can't leave Admiral Randall without a Force JAG."

"I'll pull Colonel Blankfeld from Iraq, her deputy can take her slot." Cresswell was pleased that Harm was concerned about his present command.

Part 5d follows immediately – or as soon as we can get to accept it for posting!


	9. 2nd Author's Note

Part 5d and 6A, 6B and 6C remain in this story. We are totally frustrated with whatever the problem is with this web site, and have no more time to spend cutting our chapters up, renaming them, saving to different drives, etc - -nothing is working. To read the rest of the story, please go to one of the three vow boards we are posting on: JAGNIK, JAGhaven, and the Harmy Board hbx fan fiction. If you need URLs etc, please email me at rosensera "at" Sorry for the inconvenience.


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